Page 168 of Boardroom Ties
Matvei gets my drift right away. His mouth pulls up at the corner. Without a word, he sets his beer down on the closest flat surface, takes my hand, and leads me out the opposite door, the one nobody is watching.
It’s not the same alley as the very first one we ever shared, but it’s close enough to bring back the memories.
The brick walls on both sides have turned melted margarine yellow in the streetlamp light. The smell of last night’s rain rises up from the warm concrete. From across the bay, the lights of Manhattan shine and ripple over the water.
The second the door clicks shut behind us, Mat turns me by the hip and pushes me back until my shoulder blades meet the brick. His mouth is on mine before I can make a single joke about it.
He kisses me like he’s got something to prove. He knows he doesn’t, but I’m not about to discourage him from trying. What woman alive wouldn’t want to bewantedlike this? Fully, completely, with every fiber of his being?
And also with every fiber of the extremely large, extremely hard thing I can feel pressing against my inner thigh?
When he finally lets me come up for air, I’m breathless and grinning like an idiot. “You’ve got cornbread crumbs on your collar,” I tell him.
“Whose fault is that?”
“Entirely yours. You distracted me mid-bite.”
“My deepest apologies, Mrs. Almost-Satyrin.”
I groan. “Don’tMrs.me. I had one of those, remember? Didn’t go great.”
“Mm.” He brushes my hair back from my temple. “I think the second time around will go much better than the first.”
“It had better.” I tug on his lapel. “Speaking of which, when are you going to make an honest woman out of me, Satyrin? I have a baby, a mortgage, and a very real concern about being misfiled at preschool drop-off.”
“Soon enough” is all he says.
“But, like, if ‘soon enough’ had a date, then…?”
He kisses me again, which is the most effective way to shut me up and he knows it. The brick is rough through the silk at my back. His other hand is at the side of my throat, thumb under my jaw, tilting me up to open wider for him.
Alright then. We’ll resume this discussion in a little bit.
I yank his belt loose with hands that have gotten very good at this in the last year. He shoves the hem of my dress up to myhips and hooks my underwear aside without bothering to pull it down.
That’s fine by me. The truth is that I have been wet for him since the moment I saw a sneaky stray tear escape his eye during Dani and Chad’s ceremony earlier in the day.
My beautiful man, holding our beautiful daughter, crying at the wedding of my beautiful cousin and her beautiful new husband?
Uh, take me now, please. On the altar, if necessary.
He lifts me by the backs of the thighs against the brick, and pushes himself in.
I bite down on the side of his neck to keep quiet. He hisses something low and Russian into my hair, which I do not need translated, because I’ve heard him say in the dark of our bed again and again and again over the course of the last year.
He goes slow first, which is cruel of him, given the brief window of time we have available to us at first.
Then he goes very muchnotslow.
It is over fast but it’s good nonetheless. He holds me there for a second after, my legs still locked around him, his forehead pressed to mine.
“That was unbecoming of us,” I say as I feel his wet heat begin to drip from me.
“On the contrary,” he corrects, “I’d say there was a really good amount of cumming.”
He sets me down gently, fixes my dress and underwear, then crouches to retrieve one of my flats, which has tried to make a run for it during our frantic rutting. He slides it back on my footlike I’m a Disney princess instead of a postpartum woman who just got railed against an alley wall.
When he stands again, he’s looking at me strangely.
